The Medieval Enlightenment
by Historybuff
Summary: According to Cecil Vyse, the ideal wife would be a mindless work of art, a Leonardo, to be supervised and influenced. However, Mr. Vyse fails to see the ironic truth that a blissful marriage with him would require a wife who abhorred all of these ideals.
1. An Imperative Conversation

**_Chapter 1_**

Five years had passed since his sojourn to Italy. Often Mr. Beebe found himself pleasantly reminiscing, recalling the soothing days of picnicking and resting, as though no responsibility on earth could have parted him from his state of pacifying leisure. It was during this time in his life that he grew better acquainted with certain members of his parish, one in particular who had, by pure coincidence, traveling to Italy at the exact same period of time. From their first conversation together, Mr. Beebe had found Lucy Honeychurch to be a particularly bright, interesting sort of lady. Despite her seemingly unwise decision to elope with the disreputable George Emerson, Mr. Beebe could not deny the perpetuating sentiments of complicacy that remained within him when he thought of the young woman.

George Emerson was not the sort of young man with whom such an intelligent young woman should fall in love, Mr. Beebe often thought to himself. He had felt so from the very moment of becoming acquainted with the Emersons. Though Mr. Beebe had not spoken to Mrs. Lucy Emerson since the weeks that preceded her elopement, he had remained on pleasant terms with the other members of the Honeychurch family. Of course this was partially due to the fact that his own niece, Miss Minnie Beebe, had grown intimately acquainted with the Honeychurches' son, whom Mr. Beebe had viewed somewhat skeptically during the first several months of the young couple's courtship. But now Mr. Beebe found himself becoming fonder of the boy (or rather, man) who had recently been attending Mr. Beebe's services on a far more regular basis.

It was for this reason that Mr. Beebe was currently approaching the door of his late brother's cottage, in which resided his niece, as well as her cheerless mother. Within a matter of minutes, Mr. Beebe was seated within the drawing room, waiting patiently for his hostess to appear. It was a rather small, yet pleasant room, sparsely furnished with an antiquated sofa, as well as several small chairs, scattered awkwardly in front of the window. He could not reproach his sister for her modest, plain style of living, for he was quite aware that his brother had left his family with very little on which they were to survive. He suspected that perhaps this was the reason why Mrs. Beebe requested his company on this crisp, autumn afternoon.

At last Mrs. Beebe appeared in the doorway, making apologies for her belatedness as she crossed to the window and opened it, thus allowing a cross-breeze to sweep through the room, which caused Mr. Beebe to shiver ever so slightly.

"How are you, my dear sister?" he asked quietly, staring at the faded rug that was presently decorating the wooden panels beneath his feet.

"Very well, I thank you. I have arranged for tea to be served in the garden."

"Oh no," he interjected softly, raising a hand for emphasis. "I regret to say that I shall not be able to stay for more than several minutes. I have very pressing matters to which I must attend. If it were not so very important, I would remain here long enough to-"

"Thank you, sir. But of course you need not explain," Mrs. Beebe murmured, softly pulling at a loose thread that protruded from the lacy edge of her sleeve. Though he wished for his visit to remain as brief as possible, Mr. Beebe immediately detected that there was a matter just as pressing to which he needed to attend right there in his brother's house.

"Is there something the matter?" he asked urgently, gently leading the older woman to the sofa. "Are you ill? Is Minnie ill?"

"No, of course not," she responded with an amused grin. "We are both quite well, I thank you. But the matter does relate to my daughter. You see, earlier this week, I received an unexpected visit from Mr. Frederick Honeychurch. He candidly expressed his desire to marry Minnie. I was so taken aback, I could hardly respond. I told him that the issue could not be taken lightly, that I would need at least several days to consider it. Well, several days have passed and I hardly know what to tell the boy!"

Mr. Beebe glanced at his pocket watch, agitated. Clearly the matter at hand required his attention. Any other pressing matters of business would have to be temporarily delayed. "Am I to understand that you have not given the young man any idea as to your true sentiments on the matter?"

"No, sir. None."

"Very good," he muttered, slowly pacing from one side of the quaint drawing room to the other. "Minnie is still rather young."

"Yes, this has been a concern of mine from the moment I discovered Mr. Honeychurch's intentions. I cannot understand it. With our current financial situation, I have no reason to rebuke the match. I should be quite pleased that a member of the Honeychurch family has taken an interest in my daughter. The idea should greatly excite us, should it not? But, for reasons I cannot yet disclose, I feel quite unsure as to whether I approve of the match. As you have noted, Minnie is still quite young. She has not quite reached her nineteenth birthday. And Mr. Honeychurch is younger, in spirit if not years. I cannot explain my sentiments. I only know that…"

He watched her patiently, waiting for an elaboration. Feminine nerves, he thought, hardly willing to admit even to himself that he understood the woman's sentiments, for he was feeling the exact same inkling of inexplicable admonition. "Could it be that perhaps you have wished for Minnie to see more of the world before she settled here with a husband?" he asked pensively.

Her eyes quickly shifted to meet his own. After a moment of hesitant silence, she at last opened her lips. "I have no reason to expect so much for my daughter. Her father died, leaving the poor thing penniless. Due to her pretty face and general pleasantness, she has managed to secure a decent, if not venerated, future. How am I to excuse my silly behavior? I should have agreed to the match as soon as he requested my approval!"

"Nonsense, dear lady!" he exclaimed, situating himself on the sofa beside her. "There is nothing reprehensible in your sentiments. And I must admit that I feel very much the same as you do regarding the young man. Minnie is exceptionally bright in comparison with nearly any person of her age and sex. Yet she lacks maturity; she hasn't the smallest idea of what would be appropriate in a social setting. And though Mr. Honeychurch finds her candor and excitability endearing, it should be remembered that he possesses the same sorts of vices that plague your daughter."

"I have been told that he lacks a sense of propriety. Though he is affectionate, he feels very little obligation to behave appropriately during social gatherings and has brought his mother to tears of mortification on more than one occasion."

"Is there any reason at all that she should marry?" he asked quietly, for he had hardly been listening to her. "Well, yes, of course. As you have already stated, the young lady has no dowry. I suppose it is a miracle that he would be willing to marry her at all." At this, Mr. Beebe exhaled a sigh of dejection. "It is a shame that she shall not remain independent… But we mustn't think of that. There would be no point. My dear woman… Have you thought of perhaps sending her away?"

At this, Mrs. Beebe balked. "Sending her away? Sir, have you forgotten that-"

"Yes, yes," he interrupted impatiently. "The poor thing is penniless. But if certain social connections were used for your daughter's benefit, she could travel for practically nothing at all."

"But what sort of social connections have we?" the lady asked, becoming most downtrodden.

"Well, perhaps you have very few. But I am acquainted with several families of moderate fortune in Italy. And let us not forget the Honeychurch family. They are certain to know several families of good breeding. As I recall, you once implored me to introduce Minnie to the Honeychurches, just so she might become acquainted with several of their houseguests at the time. That was five years passed. I remember the time distinctly. It was before the Honeychurches' daughter eloped… with a most deplorable young man."

"Yes, I remember," she replied, only hearing the first half of his comment, for her mind had begun to wonder. "You claimed that we were frightened for the young girl's safety, due to the diphtheria scare of that year. That's why she resided with the Honeychurches, was it not? I don't recall that she made a particularly good impression with them or any of their houseguests."

"Perhaps not. But she was quite young at the time. They hardly noticed her, I'm certain. Though I might note that Freddy eventually become quite taken with her. Our efforts were not fruitless." Mr. Beebe immediately realized that this had not been his wisest statement as soon as his companion began to rub her temple, distraught.

"She just seems too young to be engaged. And she is certainly too young to be engaged to Mr. Honeychurch. As impractical as I may seem, I strongly feel that my daughter should become acquainted with higher society, or at least its customs, before she is wed. Am I ridiculous?"

"Not at all," he replied, standing from the sofa. "You know, my dear, an idea struck me as we briefly discussed that spring, five years ago. As I recall, Miss Honeychurch had been engaged to a Mr. Vyse during that period of time. It was a short engagement, to be sure, for, as you know, she broke it as soon as Mr. Emerson arrived on Summer Street. But it did not seem to end unpleasantly. As I heard, the Honeychurches continually corresponded with the Vyses for at least a year after the failed engagement. I doubt the families are still intimate, but I am quite certain that no unpleasant sort of animosity has arisen between them."

"And how is this to affect my Minnie?" the older woman asked anxiously.

"The Vyses are highly esteemed in London society, my dear. And, as Minnie is currently on affectionate terms with the Honeychurches, I'm quite certain that this connection could be used for Minnie's benefit." At this, Mrs. Beebe frowned, more out of incredulity than discontentment. "Mrs. Vyse resides in a well-appointed London flat," he continued, as though this would change her state of mind.

"And her son lives there as well?" she asked with an unprecedented level of intensity.

The question struck him as queer; nevertheless, he humored her untraceable train of thought. "On occasion, perhaps. I know that, as of five years ago, he was of no profession." Suddenly, realization struck him as to the reason for her sudden apprehension. "After the engagement was broken, Mr. Vyse quickly recoiled from society. So I am told, that is. He was never particularly sociable and I'm afraid his unpleasant dealings with the Honeychurches left him… withdrawn…cynical towards nearly all people and women in particular."

She glanced up at her guest, the expression of anxiety suddenly vanquished. "I see. I'm quite certain that the Vyses are a very good sort of people. And I doubt that Minnie could find a better social connection. Most importantly, she would be forced to learn the general rules of higher society."

"I shall speak to the Honeychurches about the matter as soon as I see them," he stated, venturing towards the door.

"Oh, be sure to send my utmost gratitude," she asked urgently, quite certain that the request would not be denied.

"You may depend upon it. I should have an answer for you very shortly. Until then…" At this, the clergyman gently tipped his hat and quitted the cottage.

Outside, he crossed through the garden, where he immediately spotted young Minnie Beebe, situated in a soft tuft of sunny hydrangeas, a wistful expression upon her face. He tipped his hat at her as well. She responded with a soft grin as she absentmindedly ran her finger across the petals that were strewn across her dress. Perhaps if Mr. Beebe had not been quite so preoccupied with the fact that his previous engagement was temporarily delayed, he might have noticed that, behind the young girl was a small window, opened widely, leading into the drawing room of Mrs. Beebe's cottage.


	2. The Bad Humor of Freddy Honeychurch

**_Chapter 2_**

Though Miss Minnie Beebe would not admit it to anyone, least of all to Freddy, the idea of traveling to London was slowly becoming progressively more appealing to her. Though the young lady spent much of her time reading, she greatly enjoyed social gatherings and reveled in the thought of meeting so many new people, though she realized that it was quite likely that they would immediately snub her, even if she were in the company of Mrs. Vyse.

Skipping hastily towards the Honeychurches' cottage on the evening before her journey, she felt the need to check herself, for she knew that Freddy would most likely be in poor spirits due to her unexpected plans. As she approached the door, the young man emerged, taking her arm in his own and quickly leading her as far away from the house as he could.

"Freddy, what's gotten into you?" she asked in amazement.

"There's nothing wrong with me," he replied, leading her towards the pines. "I must speak with you… and the house is not the appropriate place for the conversation I wish to have."

"Freddy, you act so peculiar at times!"

As they approached a small pond, Freddy unexpectedly stopped and turned her to face him. "Be honest, Minnie… Do you really want to go to London?"

After a moment of hesitation, she responded with, "It will make my mother very happy." It was the only way she could think of to avoid the question.

He stared intensely into her eyes. "I just don't understand it," he said at last. "I asked your mother if I could marry you and this is her response… Sending you away for several months! That is not the type of response I expected. I would have expected a candid refusal before I would have expected this!"

"Freddy, dear," she whispered soothingly. "The months will pass quickly, I assure you. And London is not really that far away. If you really wished to do so, you could visit me at least once during my visit with the Vyses."

As soon as she said the name, Freddy's eyes significantly darkened. After a moment of silence, he turned his eyes to hers once more. "Why should you stay with the Vyses? They're not particularly pleasant people. I think you'd be much happier with another family."

"Mrs. Vyse is the best connection your family has with London society. And what's wrong with the Vyses? I seem to recall that they were agreeable. Or at least the son was. I never met the mother."

"And you hardly met the son!" Freddy exclaimed irritably. "If you remembered anything about him, I'm sure you wouldn't be quite so enthusiastic over your journey."

"Come now, Freddy," she implored, softly stroking his cheek. He seized this opportunity to softly kiss the tips of her fingers. "You mustn't act this way. I'll be gone by morning. Let's not ruin our last hours together by arguing."

"I just can't understand it," he continued, clearly not hearing her. "Mother was quite relieved when Lucy broke her engagement to Cecil. She never admitted it, but I could see it. It's not as though your uncle was ever fond of him. Why would they ever choose to reconvene their dealings with the Vyses?"

"This has nothing to do with Mr. Vyse, Freddy!" she said impatiently. "Mother seems to think that I'm in need of an education… an introduction into higher society… I don't pretend to understand her reasons. But this is important to her. And until I do as she wishes, I will not be allowed to marry you. That fact alone should be enough for you to beg me to leave."

"She has no plausible reason to send you away," he continued, refusing to acknowledge her logic. "What could you possibly gain from being introduced to higher society? I seem to recall how Lucy acted when she returned from London. It wasn't long after that she-"

"I know, Freddy. I was there, if you recall. No, of course you don't. You were hardly aware of my existence at the time. I remember arguing with your mother, begging her to allow me to stay here while the ladies went to church, just so I could watch you. It never worked. Well, I suppose that isn't entirely true. It worked once, when I claimed to be ill. But I'm afraid that my ruse failed miserably. Instead of being allowed to sit outside, watching you and your friend Mr. Floyd play tennis, I was forced to sit indoors with Mr. Vyse. He read aloud to me the entire morning…" She said this as though it had been some kind of inhumane punishment. She glanced up at Freddy, who was staring towards the pond, an absent expression upon his face.

"You won't enjoy yourself," he said, frustrated. "It's not a good use of your time. Why can your mother not see this? You should stay here, so we may be married, and then-"

"Keep in mind, Freddy," she began hesitantly. "That she has not yet given you her approval. And without it, I really don't think I could marry you. Don't misunderstand me… I care for you deeply. I simply mean-"

"There's no need for you to explain," he interrupted, a look of pain sweeping across his face, which he immediately removed. "I understand. But is there any way for me to win her approval without you being exiled to London?"

"I'm not being _exiled_ anywhere," she began, briefly forgetting her previous resolution to keep her excitement regarding the trip suppressed when in Freddy's presence. "London will be quite a remarkable place, I imagine."

"I doubt it," he muttered, slowly walking along the path, back towards his home.

"Freddy," she called, staring at him expectedly. He turned towards her curiously. "Was there something in particular that you wished to discuss while we were here?"

"No," he began nervously, his hand fidgeting within his pocket. "I simply wished to discuss your trip. That's all."

"Oh," she replied, quickly catching up to him on the path. "You'll see, my dear. The months will pass very quickly. You'll hardly even notice that I have left."

Though he forced a smile upon his lips, Freddy was absolutely certain that the time would not pass nearly as quickly for him as it obviously would for her. Leading her towards the house, he continued to finger a small golden band that he had nervously placed in his pocket only moments before the young woman arrived at Windy Corner.


	3. The Delayed Arrival and Warm Reception

**_Chapter 3_**

Minnie Beebe's trip to London had not gone exactly as she had originally anticipated. Though her mother had insisted that she arrive at the station in a very punctual manner, Minnie was immediately greeted with the grim realization that her train would not be departing from Surrey for several hours. These several hours eventually transformed into half of a day. Struggling with her luggage for an hour in hope of finding a decent spot to rest until her train's arrival, Minnie became distracted and nearly missed her train when it at last arrived. She moved towards the tracks at the quickest possible pace in her stiff corset, which her mother had tightened more than usual that day, and at last was able to board, quite out of breath and no longer feeling the least bit gregarious.

Mrs. Vyse clearly had no way of knowing when exactly Miss Beebe was due to arrive and for this reason, was nowhere to be found when Minnie finally arrived at the crowded London station. To her slight mortification, Minnie had no choice but to take a cab to Mrs. Vyse's flat and immediately ask the lady for five shillings to pay the driver as soon as she was received. As she made the request, Minnie felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but, to her surprise, the lady had no qualms against paying the cabby.

"Don't even think of it, my dear girl!" she exclaimed, leading Minnie into the well-appointed flat.

"I shall send for money as soon as I am able," Minnie began nervously.

"I shan't receive it! After all, I should pay for your cab, as I was unable to meet you at the station."

Minnie carried her luggage clumsily, until a servant arrived and gently took the bags from her. "Oh… Shall I follow him?" Minnie asked, taken aback by the servant's bold actions.

"If you wish, you may," Mrs. Vyse replied. "I feel rather awful."

"Why ever so?" Minnie inquired, following the servant down a hallway with Mrs. Vyse trailing behind them.

"Well, when I received Mrs. Honeychurch's letter regarding your visit, I immediately decided that our extra room was in need of a more modern decorum. I had the room completely torn apart, and, to my humiliation, it is not yet completed. I have been told that the room will be ready for guests within several days. But until then, I fear I have no choice but to place you in my son's room." Minnie stopped suddenly and turned to her hostess, her eyes widened. "My son is currently visiting a friend in Paris. I do not expect him to return for several weeks, at least. You might not even have the chance to see him during your visit." As they entered the bedroom, Mrs. Vyse strolled towards the window and pulled open the dark burgundy drapes, allowing sunlight to stream forth into the otherwise cold, somewhat unappealing chamber. "Here we are," Mrs. Vyse murmured. "I do hope you won't mind staying in this room for a day or two. It's not a particularly pretty sort of room, but I'm sure it will suffice."

"Of course it will," Minnie replied, watching the servant as he placed her luggage on a small table in front of the bed.

"Nevertheless, I'm certain your mother would not be pleased. She sent you to me in order for you to learn about London society and how we treat our guests. I assure you, Miss Beebe, this is not the sort of arrangement to which most London ladies would grow accustomed."

"I'm quite happy in this room, Mrs. Vyse. You mustn't think of it."

"Very well, my dear. Well… Dinner is to be served within the hour. You mustn't feel restricted to your room, if you wish to stroll about the flat. I would be quite happy to receive your company, providing you are not tired."

"I thank you, ma'am. But I'm afraid that the trip has completely exhausted me. If you wouldn't be offended, I think I'd rather like to lie down for a while."

"Of course. I shall send Maria to you when dinner is served." At this, Mrs. Vyse quitted the room, leaving Minnie to her own thoughts for the first time that day. The complete silence of the room came as a relief to her. She slowly opened her bag and pulled out several dresses, strewing them across the bed and crossing to a closet. As soon as she opened the closet door, she felt as though she had overstepped some type of social boundary.

"Mrs. Vyse, is there an empty bureau in which I could-" Suddenly, Minnie remembered that the lady had left the room. An unexpected rush of curiosity unexpectedly captivated her. She felt her fingers methodically grazing through the stiff overcoats and scented smoking jackets that had been worn by the chamber's previous occupant before he chose to briefly abandon them. Protruding from the pocket of a heavy evening coat was a soft, white glove. Though she could hardly have explained her action, Minnie felt her hand slowly rise towards the glove, pulling it from its previous location and holding it out as though there was something unusual about it. Her fingers gently traced those of the long, slender glove and she could not help but wonder why she had never seen Freddy wear anything like it. But the sound of quickened footsteps shook Minnie from her reverie and into a state of slight panic. She closed the closet door with surprising force and, in her nervous state of mind, forgot to place the glove back into the pocket of the gentleman's overcoat. Rather, she crushed it in her palm and backed towards the window, waiting for a knock at her door.

At last the knock came. "Miss Beebe," a meek voice called.

"Come in," she entreated, taking another step towards the window.

At this, a small woman, presumably the servant Maria, entered. "Mrs. Vyse sent me to inform you that you may place your possessions in that chest," At this she gestured to a large, cedar chest in the corner of the room, "until the guest chamber is presentable."

"Thank you," Minnie replied, standing cautiously close to the window until she heard the door close and the servant's footsteps fade away towards the library. Sighing heavily, Minnie collapsed onto the bed, absent-mindedly dropping the glove, which landed on the floor. From her current reclined position, Minnie's eyes wondered through the chamber. She could not help but wonder exactly what caused her immediate repulsion as soon as she entered the room. On the wall adjacent to the bed was a large bookcase, filled from the floor to the ceiling with heavy, most likely dull reading material. At this, she could not help but smile. Though she remembered very little of Mr. Vyse, she distinctly recalled his love of reading and hatred of sports.

She wondered how much had changed about him since their last acquaintance. Though she could hardly remember anything about him, she could not help but feel that Freddy must have exaggerated when he described the gentleman. It was as though Freddy practically loathed the gentleman and, based on her few vague recollections, Minnie could not help but wonder what caused such enmity. But it was of very little consequence to her. She most likely would not even become reacquainted with Mr. Vyse, if he planned to spend the next several weeks in Paris. The idea of spending time with Mrs. Vyse pleased Minnie greatly. Despite the fact that her father had died and she had no brothers, Minnie felt as though a day rarely passed where she was not bombarded with members of the opposite sex and she resented it.

Minnie was quite certain that her stay with Mrs. Vyse would be pleasant, if not perhaps a little dull, at the beginning. But her feelings were far more optimistic when she thought of the social gatherings she would have the opportunity to attend within a matter of weeks or perhaps days.


	4. The Terrifying Encounter

**_Chapter 4_**

Moving her fingers gently across the ivory keys of Mrs. Vyse's antique piano, Minnie sat rigidly, staring at the sheet music placed before her, scrutinizing every note and playing at a fairly moderate speed.

"You play quite well, my dear," Mrs. Vyse remarked, seated on a plush sofa on the opposite side of the room. "My guests will be quite pleased to hear you. You know, I'm rather vexed that you have waited till now to display your talents."

At this, Minnie glanced away from the sheet music. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Vyse. I was not aware that you cared so deeply for music, or else I would have played for you as soon as I arrived, three days ago."

Minnie was not quite certain whether Mrs. Vyse had not heard her or simply did not wish to reply, for the lady had been staring at a piece of paper, presumably a letter, quite solemnly for the past twenty minutes. "I'm sorry, my dear. Did you say something? I was just reading a letter from my son. These postmen are so slow about getting one's mail delivered in a timely fashion. Take this, for instance. It was dated three weeks ago, and yet I just received it this morning."

"Is your son well?" Minnie asked awkwardly, unable to think of a response to Mrs. Vyse's complaints.

"Hmm? Oh yes, my dear. He's very well. Only… it seems he's had a bit of a falling out with his friend in Paris. He claims that it's nothing very serious, but… I do hope he hasn't offended the Churchills. Mrs. Churchill has been an intimate friend of mine for many years."

"Well, if Mr. Vyse is still in Paris three weeks after the falling out, I'd think the matter was resolved," Minnie replied consolingly.

"I do hope so… For Cecil's sake, at least. The poor man rarely meets new people and hardly ever befriends anyone. He really cannot afford to lose the few friends he's already obtained." Once again unable to think of a response, Minnie turned her attention to the sheet music and continued playing. Mrs. Vyse listened satisfactorily for an hour. By nine o'clock she rose from the sofa and lifted a small candle. "You'll have to forgive me, Miss Beebe. I'm rather dull company this evening. I think I shall retire." Minnie promptly stood from the piano bench and followed her towards the hall. "Oh, don't think that you must retire on my account," Mrs. Vyse quickly said.

"I'm quite tired as well," Minnie replied, though, in truth, she never slept quite so much as she had since arriving in London.

"Good night, my dear," Mrs. Vyse said, stifling a yawn as she crossed to her chamber.

Minnie slowly trudged towards her own chamber, an expression of ennui upon her face. Removing her outer garments, Minnie placed her clothing within the cedar trunk and took up a small brush, stroking her heavy train of golden hair with precise, brisk movements for a quarter of an hour, until finally the physical exertion caused her to feel temporarily fatigued. After opening her window enough to allow a soft breeze to enter, clearing the oppressive atmosphere of the room, she slipped until the quilt on the bed and buried herself within the covers. A mild, unknown, yet not unpleasant aroma filled her nostrils as she deeply inhaled under the blankets. The richness of the entrancing scent was the last thought that moved through her head before she slowly drifted into a serene state of sleep…

*******

Her heart racing, Minnie suppressed the urge to scream as soon as she felt a large mass land on top of her, awaking her from her previous mode of rest. She violently pulled herself from under the mass, though this proved to be unnecessary, since the unknown person or creature traveled with equal speed and urgency from the bed. Due to its uncontrolled movements, the creature stumbled over Minnie's luggage, which she had not yet placed in the chest, and tumbled towards the floor, pulling an inconveniently placed mirror down with it. The creature's plunge ended with the shatter of glass and several shrieks echoing from the throat of Minnie Beebe, who had leapt from the bed and staggered towards the door with remarkable agility.

"Mrs. Beebe!" the terrified girl cried, striving to open the door with her shaking hands. She could hear the creature struggle to its feet, moaning and cursing with every arduous movement.

After a brief moment, the door was swiftly opened and Mrs. Vyse appeared, dressed in a high-collared nightgown with a small candle trembling in her hands. "What on earth has happened?" she inquired vehemently.

"I don't know! Look for yourself!" Minnie exclaimed, pointing her shaking finger towards the tall figure, still struggling to stand in her chamber. Nervously, Mrs. Vyse took a small step towards the being, holding her candle out just enough for her to discern his stunned features.

With an astonished giggle, Mrs. Vyse crossed to him and placed a hand on his pale cheek. "Cecil! You've arrived home early, my dear boy!"

Cecil Vyse was still unable to speak or even respond when his mother gently put her arms around him. All he could manage to do was stare at the young woman who appeared in doorway. Minnie stared at him as well, dumbfounded for several moments and then immediately appalled, not only by her behavior, but also by her under-clad appearance. Assuring that she would not fall over the same piece of luggage that had staggered their new arrival, Minnie crossed to the chest and pulled out a small shawl, which she wrapped snuggly around herself.

"I wrote to you several weeks ago," Cecil began at last, clearing his throat dryly and pulling from his mother's embrace in order to search the floor for his gold pince-nez, which had dislodged during his violent plunge. "I mentioned that Mr. Churchill and I were no longer on the best of terms." At last he located the spectacles and, to nobody's surprise, could not suppress the sigh that erupted as soon as he scrutinized the shattered glass and distorted frames.

"Well, yes, but that was over three weeks ago!" his mother responded, taking the pince-nez from him and placing them on the bureau. "I thought that you must have reconciled with him."

"I thought I had. But it soon became quite clear that I was no longer welcome in his house. For this reason, I returned home. The train was late, or else I would have arrived before dinner." Once again, his eyes slowly shifted to the young woman loitering in the shadowed hallway. "Would you mind explaining to me…" Though his words drifted off, his gaze remained fixed on the young woman.

Mrs. Vyse turned to see her young, frightened guest. "Oh, Miss Beebe! Come here, my dear. There's no reason to be frightened. You remember Mr. Vyse, don't you?" Out of obligation, Minnie reluctantly abandoned the hall and stepped towards them. She bowed nervously, well aware that this was not an appropriate greeting under the circumstance.

"How do you do, Mr. Vyse?" she asked cordially, her voice breaking as she spoke.

"I'm sorry, Mother. I have no recollection of meeting this young lady," Cecil began hesitantly, continuing to stare at her as though she were a ghost.

"Of course you do, Cecil! It was five years ago…" Her tone suddenly became more delicate. "When you were staying with the Honeychurches. Miss Beebe was residing with them as well, in order to avoid a diphtheria scare. She was thirteen years of age at the time."

"Yes, of course," he replied, memories of the young, rambunctious girl flooding his mind. "Yes, I remember."

"Miss Beebe is staying with me for a month, at least. Her mother wishes for me to introduce her to London society."

"That's very well," Cecil began. At last he asked the pressing question. "But… May I inquire as to the reason for her staying in this particular room?"

Minnie could feel her cheeks become a deeper shade of scarlet and she became irritated with her inability to control this. "I've been decorating the spare room," Mrs. Vyse explained. "At present, it's not fit for a guest. I didn't think you would be arriving for several weeks at least. In the meantime, I didn't see any reason why Miss Beebe couldn't stay in your room."

"I'm so sorry to be such an imposition," Minnie stuttered, her cheeks growing warmer as she spoke.

"You're not an imposition," Mrs. Vyse quickly replied. "There's just been a misunderstanding. Now, I can have the spare room ready for Miss Beebe by tomorrow evening. However, I'm afraid that in the meantime, I will have nowhere to put her, unless-"

"Of course, I will stay in a hotel this evening," Cecil immediately stated. "You'll have to forgive me, Miss Beebe, for my unexpected arrival. I certainly had no intention of startling you… to say the least." At this, he turned towards the door, preparing to depart. "Good night. I shall return in the morning…" Both women listened in the hall for several minutes until they heard him quit the flat.

Sighing deeply, Mrs. Vyse lifted the candle from the bureau and moved towards Minnie. "You poor thing! You're absolutely shaking! Here… I'll have Maria make you a cup of tea."

"No! I thank you, Mrs. Vyse, but I'll be quite well. It was just a little fright. Nothing more." Minnie placed a hand on her chest and could immediately feel her heart beat pounding under her fingers. "After a few minutes, I'll be asleep once more. I'm quite sure of it."

"Well…" Mrs. Vyse began hesitantly. Giving the girl's cheek a soft pat, she ventured towards the door. "If you're unable to sleep, just remember-"

"I'll be quite well, Mrs. Vyse. Thank you." At that, Mrs. Vyse gently closed the door behind her.

Minnie slowly paced from one side of the room to the other, the breath going in and out of her lungs in vigorous heaves. Finally, after a moment of collecting herself, she moved towards the bed, only to be distracted by the mangled pince-nez that had been set on the edge of the bureau. Lifting the frames slowly to her eyes, she suddenly felt a burst of unstilted laughter rise from her throat, which she could not suppress, despite her fear of once again awaking the flabbergasted woman in the room across from her own. Falling onto the bed, she continued to laugh hectically until at last she once again returned to her previous state of light rest.


	5. The Breakfast Affront

**_Chapter 5_**

Minnie stepped through the halls of the flat anxiously, uncertain of how the morning would proceed, as Mr. Vyse's unexpected return disrupted her original plans with Mrs. Vyse. She absentmindedly grasped at her throat, her nerves overcoming her as she approached the breakfast room, in which she could hear voices, particularly that of Mrs. Vyse.

"Cecil, I do hope you will write to Mr. Churchill and apologize," his mother pleaded, her knife clattering against her plate.

"I shall do nothing of the kind, Mother," he retorted, flipping a page of his newspaper and slowly lifting his coffee to his lips. "I am absolutely certain that I have done nothing to offend the gentleman. If anything, he has insulted me by daring to insinuate that I was any sort of trouble during my stay in Paris. It was most unlike him."

"Perhaps you are right," she replied. "But as you've said, it was most unlike him! Is that not reason enough to write to him and make amends? Please, Cecil. Think of your dear mother. I've been on pleasant terms with Mrs. Churchill for many years."

At this, Cecil's eyes briefly lifted from the paper to meet hers, a half-grin spread upon his face. "Very well, Mother. If it would mean that much to you for me to write, I shall do so. However, I refuse to admit to any accusations to which I am not guilty."

Just as Mrs. Vyse was about to sigh inconsolably, Minnie gathered her courage and entered the room. As soon as her appearance was made, the slight smile on Cecil's lips quickly vanished. Immediately standing from the table, he stiffly bowed in a manner that briefly dazed her. Collecting herself, she responded with a light curtsy.

"Good morning, Mrs. Vyse… Mr. Vyse," she muttered, nearly inaudibly.

Cecil quickly returned to his seat and recommenced with his newspaper. "My dear," Mrs. Vyse began, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Did you sleep well?"

With a small grin of embarrassment, Minnie quietly acknowledge that she had slept sufficiently. To her relief and slight surprise, Cecil's eyes did not turn from the paper. Rather he flipped a page and mumbled softly as he read a fresh headline. With a small sip of coffee and a nervous breath, Minnie took it upon herself to begin the conversation that might ease any tension that had formed within the past half-day.

"I trust you were able to find a decent hotel, Mr. Vyse," she began, her voice unusually high in pitch.

Cecil had not expected her to address him at all, let alone by introducing this seemingly inappropriate subject. Lowering his paper to the table, he glanced at her, only able to meet her eyes for a moment before shifting them to his coffee. "Yes, I was able to find one with ease, thank you. London has many accommodating hotels."

"So I've heard," she responded simply, inwardly ridiculing herself for her own inability to say anything more remarkable than this. She smiled warmly at Maria as she placed a plate before her. "Thank you, Maria. Your biscuits are most delicious. I must have the recipe before I leave London." Though she had not been looking at him as she said this, Minnie was almost certain that she had detected a quiet scoff coming from Cecil as soon as she finished speaking. Puzzled, she took a small bite of biscuit and proceeded to eat in silence for several minutes before once again gathering the courage to speak. "My mother makes very delicious biscuits as well. But I daresay… this recipe is better. It's not very often that I try new recipes that are superior to those of my mother." She had not been caught off guard this time and now she was quite certain that he was subtly scorning her, his expression souring the longer she spoke, despite the fact that he never raised his eyes from the paper. She turned her attention to Mrs. Vyse, who did not seem to be ridiculing her in the same fashion, but, to Minnie's surprise, did seem to be growing more uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," Minnie mumbled, wiping her lips with the cloth napkin. "Have I said something to offend you?"

At this, Mrs. Vyse quickly turned her eyes to the young lady with an anxious smile. "No, my dear. Don't be absurd! You could hardly offend me."

Minnie grinned warmly at her hostess, but could not help but notice that Cecil had not said a word in protest, nor had his expression changed. His scoff had incited a high level of exasperation in her that even Minnie could not have anticipated. Before she had time to suppress this feeling of irritation, she heard herself speak. "Well, perhaps Mr. Vyse is the only one to find me offensive." At this, his eyes immediately rose to meet hers and, to her amazement, this only increased her confidence. "You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Vyse, if it seems as though I'm ignorant. Compared to the people with whom you generally associate, I'm sure that I am. If I were well-acquainted with London customs I doubt that Mother would have sent me to impose upon you in the first place."

"My dear, you're not an imposition!" Mrs. Vyse protested, just as dumbfounded by the young woman's unprecedented valor as her son was.

"I thank you for saying so, Mrs. Vyse. I believe the feeling is quite genuine… coming from _you_," Minnie mumbled quietly. Though Mrs. Vyse briefly tried to respond, the breakfast proceeded in silence. And though Cecil became more focused on his paper, the astonished expression from his face was enduring.

As soon as breakfast had ended, Minnie quietly slipped away into the library. Sitting in a large chair, she lifted a large volume from a nearby table and carefully opened it to a page that had been marked. "The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci," she read quietly, flipping the pages slowly, assuring that she did not lose the marked spot by placing her finger in the original location. Though she had only intended to glance through the pages, she found herself delving deeper into the material until, before she realized it, an hour had passed. She would have continued to read had she not been distracted by a soft knock on the door. "Come in," she said, curious to know who would feel obligated to knock. To her amazement, Cecil Vyse entered and carefully closed the door behind him. She watched his precise motions with vague interest as he meticulously fingered through several shelves of books, assuring that he did not overlook a single title. He proceeded in this queer fashion for ten minutes, never uttering a word. Finally, he came to the realization that he had no choice but to overcome his vanity and address her. He was somewhat puzzled to find her staring at him, her brow slightly furrowed.

Clearing his throat nervously, he took one large step in her direction, which caused her eyes to widen considerably. If she had not been annoyed with him, she might have smiled at his peculiar, unnatural motions. "Miss Beebe," he began, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Mr. Vyse?" she replied, a slight grin quivering in the corner of her mouth that she could not suppress.

"I have been searching for a particular volume written by Leonardo da Vinci. Might I inquire as to whether or not you have seen this volume?" As he spoke, she listened with increasing amusement at the intensity and clear precision of the words he chose to use while speaking to her. The longer she hesitated to respond, the more his obviously feigned confidence began to quaver. Once more, he cleared his throat. "Might I also inquire…" he began slowly, gently pointing to the book that laid in her lap. "As to whether or not that is the very book to which I have referred?" Suddenly, her eyes rapidly turned from Cecil to the book.

"Oh, well, yes. My apologies, Mr. Vyse. This is the very book," she said quickly, opening the book to the page that had been marked and holding it out to him. "You'll have to excuse me. Curiosity got the better of me. I do hope I haven't lost your page."

"No, it doesn't appear that you have," he responded quietly, searching the page methodically, as though he were checking to see if every letter and punctuation mark was still in its proper place.

"Well…" she mumbled, lifting another small novel from a shelf. "Very good." Though her eyes began to scrutinize the words of the first page of her new novel, she could still feel Cecil's gaze lingering on her. He shifted anxiously and she soon realized that she had no choice but to give him her attention once more. "Is there something the matter, Mr. Vyse?" she asked patiently.

His eyes immediately turned from the floor to her inquisitive face. He opened his mouth, but could not speak until he knew exactly what he felt must be said. After a moment of unbearable silence, he at last spoke. "I feel obliged to offer you an apology, Miss Beebe." She stared up at him, uncertain of whether she should be flattered by what he had said or perhaps offended by his manner of saying it. "It was ungentlemanly of me to openly ridicule your comments. You must believe that I did not mean to offend you. Certainly I realize that it is in very bad taste to pass judgment on someone while he or she is present." Minnie could not help but openly exclaim at this. Her reaction startled him and it took him a moment to realize how his words might have sounded. "That is… It's most certainly in bad taste to-"

"I understand you perfectly, Mr. Vyse," she replied with a bitter smile. "Make no mistake. I am _quite_ aware of the fact that you and your mother are above me in every possible way. However, I hardly think this gives you the right to openly humiliate me."

"Yes, of course," he said, surprised that she seemed to be agreeing with his previous statement. "As I noted, it was perhaps rude of me to-"

"It was very rude, Mr. Vyse," she corrected, astonished by her boldness. "However, I am willing to overlook this incident if you assure me that it will not happen again."

"But of course," he said enthusiastically.

"I see no reason for us not to be friends. After all, your mother is on very good terms with Mrs. Honeychurch. And I am quite fond of your mother as well." He stared at her, perplexed by the concept of becoming her friend. She immediately detected the change in his expression. "Unless, of course, you do not wish to be friends."

"Not at all!" he exclaimed, unaccustomed to her slight tactlessness. "I see no reason why we shouldn't be on friendly terms."

"Very well," she said resolutely. "As your friend, I must warn you that I have never been one to inwardly seethe. You may think me uncivilized and gauche, but I see no reason to hide my true feelings. If we are to get along, I will expect just as much from you. Unlike your friend in Paris, I see no point in becoming increasingly angry with someone without bothering to confront the irritant as soon as a slight has been made." Her honesty had him so taken aback that he could not think of a response, but nodded his head gently. After a moment longer of holding onto her resentment, she at last sighed and rose from her chair, extending her hand to him. "Will you not shake my hand?" she demanded quietly with a soft grin. Though he did not reciprocate the smile, he eventually lifted his hand and briefly held hers within it.

After another moment of standing awkwardly close to her, Cecil at last felt it would be acceptable to quit the room. He found a comfortable chair in the drawing room in which he sat and proceeded to read The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci for the remainder of the morning, leaving Minnie in the library to concentrate on anything but her novel.


	6. A Late Night Literary Discussion

**_Chapter 6_**

"Mrs. Vyse, you're young guest is absolutely charming," an older gentleman said to the woman, leading her to a window of his ornate, heavily populated ballroom.

"Yes, she is such a joy to have with me," Mrs. Vyse replied with a small spurt of laughter. "Certainly she is… perhaps a little rough around the edges. But she's most definitely a darling girl. I've been given the responsibility of introducing her into London society. With this responsibility, I have taken it upon myself to… mold her. I hope to make her one of us by the month's end. It shouldn't be difficult, I… think." Her tone suddenly faltered as the recollection of breakfast suddenly plagued her memory. She suppressed a slight grimace before returning her attention to the gentleman at her side.

"It's too bad that your son couldn't join us this evening," the gentleman commented.

"Yes," Mrs. Vyse replied with a small blush. "I'm afraid that my son has very little interest in attending any type of social function. You know the type. He's the sort of chap who simply can't get his nose out of a book. He returned home from Paris a week ago and I've scarcely seen him all this time, with the exception of meals."

"He's an avid reader," the gentleman repeated with a nod.

"Yes," she muttered. "He spends most of his time in the library or the drawing room, depending on which room is vacated. I think the boy grows far too pale. Oh! Pardon me. I've forgotten myself. Sometimes I just say whatever thought pops into my head. But I do feel that he should leave the house more often. It cannot possibly be healthy for him."

"He's still a young man," the gentleman assured her. "I'm sure he'll be quite well. And how is he getting along with your new guest?"

Mrs. Vyse glanced at Minnie, who was conversing with a young woman, obviously nervous. "Well," Mrs. Vyse began hesitantly. "To be quite candid, Mr. Greene, I think he has completely forgotten that she resides with us. Apart from… one or two small interactions… I don't believe I've seen the two of them converse since he arrived home. But that hardly surprises me."

"She's a pretty little thing, isn't she?" the gentleman, Mr. Greene, commented, glancing at the younger woman. "Is she involved with any young gentleman?"

"I'm under the distinct impression that she is very likely to be engaged to a Mr. Frederick Honeychurch shortly after she arrives back in Surrey. But of course this is just gossip. One cannot be certain."

"I wonder how the young man can stand seeing her leave for a month."

"It could be longer, depending on how much she enjoys her stay in London."

Before their conversation could continue, Minnie nervously approached. "Mrs. Vyse… I-" She suddenly noticed the gentleman standing next to Mrs. Vyse and immediately bowed. "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Not at all, Miss Beebe," Mrs. Vyse said, gently pulling the young woman closer to her and her companion. "I don't believe I have yet introduced you to Mr. Greene."

"A pleasure, Miss Beebe," he said with a bow.

"Likewise, sir," Minnie mumbled softly, endeavoring with little success to suppress a yawn. "Excuse me…"

"It appears that your young friend is quite fatigued, Mrs. Vyse. You'd better take her home," he said good-humouredly.

"Yes, the poor thing! She's been awake since before sunrise. This is the first social function she has attended since arriving in London. The poor dear has been a nervous wreck!"

Minnie did not respond but averted her eyes timidly to the floor. "I do hope it would not be a terrible inconvenience if I asked that we might return home."

"Not at all! You're tired. It's my responsibility to assure that you are healthy while you're staying with me. You'll become ill if I allow you to exhaust yourself. We'll leave right away. If you would excuse us, Mr. Greene."

"Of course," he replied, shaking both of their hands lightly before they quitted the room.

"I do hope you enjoyed yourself," Mrs. Vyse said quietly as they approached their carriage.

"Oh! Very much so, Mrs. Vyse! I sincerely hope that you don't think me unappreciative. If I were not quite so exhausted, I'd love to have stayed much longer. I just-"

"My dear, there's no need to explain yourself!" she said warmly. They entered the carriage and proceeded in silence. Minnie stared blankly at the tall buildings that they passed. London was so very different from Surrey, so completely different from any town or city she had ever visited. This was her last thought before the lulling sway of the carriage induced her into a light sleep.

* * *

Trudging through the halls to her freshly decorated chamber, Minnie caught a glimpse of candle light protruding from under the library door. Curiously, she stepped towards the room and peered inside, only to find Cecil Vyse seated at his desk, deeply involved with his book.

Generally Minnie thought of herself as a somewhat introverted young lady, who preferred to spend her time in solitude. But before she was able to question her actions, she found herself cautiously opening the library door and stepping silently towards the unsuspecting gentleman, who clearly had not paid the least bit of attention to his surroundings for at least several hours. He looked much different to her than he usually did. Before arriving in London, her only memory of Mr. Vyse was of an exceptionally tall figure, a meticulous wardrobe and a perfectly straight posture. But compared with this memory, the figure before her was practically unrecognizable. Leaning forward over his novel, his jacket cast aside to the sofa and his tie most scandalously loosened, he seemed to be a tad bit more human than usual and the idea fancied her for some inexplicable reason. Uncertain as to her reason for entering the library, she felt she had no choice but to make her presence known, despite the fact that, by doing so, she would most certainly cause the display of unexpected normalcy before her to immediately disappear. She thought that he might be startled if she made any rapid movement, but she certainly did not expect to see him jump quite so high from his seat due to a mere cough.

"Miss Beebe!" he exclaimed hoarsely, preparing to stand as he ran several fingers through his hair, agitated.

"No, no. Don't stand. I didn't mean to disrupt you. Please, go about your reading."

He stared at her queerly. "Well, is there something that you want?" he asked, compulsively straightening his spectacles as he shifted in his chair.

"Not at all. I was simply curious to see what has captivated your attention so immensely. But really… Go about your reading. I certainly am not here to impose upon your privacy." Reluctantly, he turned his eyes once more to his book, glancing up every few seconds to find her standing in front of the book shelves, her lips moving as she silently read the titles to herself.

"Might I offer a recommendation?" he at last said, unable to control his urge to give his input.

She turned to him, surprised. "Oh… Uh, well… Yes, of course. I hardly see why you shouldn't." At this, he stood from his chair and crossed to her with an unexpected level of enthusiasm. Within several minutes of searching, he pulled a small novella from one of the lower shelves.

"Here you are," he said, handing the book to her.

She grinned with amusement, holding the book in her hands. Suddenly, her expression changed dramatically. "_The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_ by Baum?" she asked, raising a brow.

"It's a fairly modern American novel. Though I'm not particularly interested in such a trivial tale, I think you might enjoy it," he said with confidence. He could not help but wonder why her expression had not changed.

"Mr. Vyse, I've read this particular book. In fact, I read it… when I was a child."

"Yes," he responded, not entirely certain what her point was supposed to be.

"Mr. Vyse!" she exclaimed in disbelief, with a smile forming on her lips. "I am not a child. Thank you for your suggestion. But I think I can handle reading something with a little more substance than this. I'm not _entirely_ ignorant, you know, even if I do ask Maria for her biscuit recipe and thank her for bringing me tea."

At this, he prepared to protest. "I most certainly did not say a word regarding your… perhaps unnecessary level of gratitude over tea."

"You _did_, Mr. Vyse," she said forcefully, though the smile had not left her lips. "I heard your scoff of contempt. I don't believe you even tried to hide it from me. Probably you were suppressing several days' worth of scoffs, all at my expense, and simply could not suppress them any longer."

"It's certainly not true!" he exclaimed with more animation than she had ever seen in him.

"It is, Cecil!" she repeated, only catching her slip within a second after speaking. She hoped that he had not noticed, but judging by his immediately straightened posture, she was quite sure that he had. "All I've asked of you is to remain honest with me. You agreed to this, so I'm expecting that you are a man of your word. Is it so?"

After a moment of reluctance, he at last sighed in defeat and took the small book from her hands, returning it to its shelf. "Very well. I'll continue searching." After a moment of fingering through the higher shelves, he eventually bent down to his knees and perused the lower ones, his eyes never leaving the volumes in front of him.

"I'm sorry for being so informal," she said at last. "It was a mistake, I assure you. It's just that the Honeychurches always refer to you as-"

"There's no need to explain," he interjected, not turning his head to her. "You may call me whatever you'd like."

She grinned at this, thinking of what Freddy would have to say if he were given such an opportunity as this. "Very well. If we are to be friends, I think I'd like to be a little less formal with you."

"Hmmm…" he mused to himself, struggling to his feet with a slightly larger book in his hand. "Here we are. Perhaps this will be to your liking, Minnie. It's _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens." Taking the book from his hands, she opened the front cover and began to scrutinize the first page. He watched her intently, his hands clasped behind him as he anxiously swayed back and forth on his heels. "Should I find another?"

"No, I think this will do. Thank you," she replied, closing the book and placing it under her right arm, clasping her hands together. "As long as the discussion is open, I think I'd prefer it if you called me Mary."

He stared at her for a moment, taken aback. "Mary?"

"Well, yes. It's my name, after all. People have been calling me Minnie since I was a little girl. It's not that I strongly object to the name. I simply would prefer to hear someone call me Mary. It's more distinguished."

After a moment of thought, Cecil turned his eyes to meet her own. "Very well, Mary. Is there anything else with which I might assist you?"

"No, not at all. Please… Continue with your reading. I shouldn't have bothered you in the first place. My mind is far too exhausted to concentrate on a story. But I'll be pleased to have reading material in the morning." At this, he returned to his seat and once again hunched over his book. He hardly even noticed when she stood over him, gazing at the page as her hand absentmindedly began to linger on his shoulder. "Is this still the Notebooks of Leonardo?" she asked.

Once again, he turned his eyes to meet hers. "No. This is actually a novel. And a rather ridiculous one at that. I've been following the novels of this author for several years. I'm not entirely sure why. The stories are absolutely shameful and the characters are grossly exaggerated."

"Who writes the novels?" she asked, her hand slowly sliding down his arm.

"Joseph Emery Prank. Though I've heard that it is actually a lady writing under the name. I can't be sure whether this is true or not…" Though Cecil had the unfortunate habit of remaining rather obtuse under most situations, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Minnie's hand was not likely to leave his person until he directly influenced it to do so. But judging by the expression on the mortified girl's face as soon as he glanced up at her, she had not been any more aware of her hand's disreputable actions than he originally had been.

Taking several steps from him, she mumbled a quiet "Good night," before quitting the library, humiliated by her actions, but unable to decide whether she was entirely remorseful.


	7. The Reluctant Walking Companion

**_Chapter 7_**

Several mornings later, Minnie entered the breakfast room with a determined expression upon her face, only to find Cecil's chair empty.

"Good morning, Miss Beebe!" Mrs. Vyse said cheerily.

"Good morning," she replied, only slightly disappointed. "Where is Mr. Vyse?"

"Oh, he had breakfast hours ago," she replied, sipping her tea. "As usual, he's hidden himself away in his library. I doubt we shall see him again till dinner."

Minnie sat in her chair, pouring herself tea with a dismal expression. "I think I'd like to take a walk this morning, before it rains."

Mrs. Vyse turned to face a window, sighing at the precarious state of the weather. "I wish I could join you, but I'm afraid I must call on Miss Greene, Mr. Greene's sister. She's had a terrible cough for several weeks and I thought it would do her good to receive company. Certainly you mustn't come with me if you do not wish to do so."

"Oh," Minnie replied with uncertainty. "I would so love a walk."

"I wouldn't suggest that you go without a companion. It's not that I fear for your safety, but I think you might become lost. And wouldn't that be a misfortune, especially with those clouds forming."

Minnie stared at her plate for several minutes before a small grin crept upon her lips. "Mrs. Vyse, do you think that your son would be willing to accompany me?"

Mrs. Vyse turned her eyes to the young woman, surprised. "Oh… Cecil? Well, I'm afraid that you'll have quite the time convincing him to join you. Obviously it's not a personal slight. He simply does not enjoy leaving the flat unless it is absolutely necessary."

"It's a wonder he isn't sickly," Minnie replied. "Would there be anything inappropriate in my asking him, do you think?"

"No, not at all," she replied after a moment of thought. "If you convince him to humor you, I'm sure there would be nothing inappropriate in it."

It was for this reason that, shortly after breakfast, Minnie checked her appearance in her small mirror and ventured forth towards the library once more. This time, she knocked on the door, in order to avoiding startling him. She still felt that knocking at the library door was a peculiar custom, but nevertheless one that she should adopt.

"Enter," Cecil directed from his large chair in the corner of the room. She quickly did as she was told, entering the room with a fresh smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Vyse," she said brightly.

"Good morning, Miss Beebe," he responded, lowering his novel.

She stepped towards him slowly, glancing at the book, causing him to gently flinch. "Don't worry. I shan't molest you today," she said with a quick burst of laughter. "Really, I can't imagine what came over me. I seemed to have forgotten that you were… _you_."

"Who else would I be?" he asked, only a little irritable.

"Freddy, perhaps," she replied quietly. "He's the only one I can think of with whom I would ever be that informal. But I feel I must apologize. I realize that I made you quite uncomfortable… It's rather strange, isn't it? Ever since you arrived here, our every encounter has ended in a disaster. It's as though we're destined to offend each other. But I think we should forget all of it and start afresh once more, don't you?"

Quizzically lifting a brow, he flipped a page in his book. "If you wish."

Minnie would not be gotten rid of quite so easily. "It's a lovely day. I think I shall go for a walk."

"Splendid," he responded, lifting the book a little higher.

"I'd be very pleased if you would accompany me," she said bluntly.

At this, he quickly slammed the book down and turned his entire body towards the window. "It's likely to rain. This isn't ideal weather for a walk, Miss Beebe."

"Who ever said it had to be ideal? Come, Cecil. The fresh air would do us both good."

"I hardly ever go for walks," he replied simply, his expression becoming increasingly concerned.

"I believe you wholeheartedly!" she exclaimed. "You're far too pale, if you don't mind me saying so."

"It wouldn't matter if I did," he said, rolling his eyes. His quiet remarks would not stifle her diligence. After several more minutes of cajoling, she eventually persuaded him to place his book to the side and prepare to leave the flat.

* * *

Leading Minnie to the opposite side of the street, Cecil immediately switched locations with her, in order to protect her from the approaching motorcars. She watched him contently, amused by his unexpected chivalry. He continually squinted, his eyes not yet used to the glaring sunlight.

"I hope all this light isn't too much for you," she said teasingly.

He glanced at her, uncertain of how to respond. "No, I don't mind the sunlight," he replied, straightening his new gold pince-nez on the bridge of his nose. "It's simply that I prefer the solitude of a small, closed-off room."

"Yes, I know," she said absentmindedly. This reminded her of a letter she had received several days before traveling to London. Despite her family's slight objection, she had corresponded with Lucy Emerson for several years, somewhat formally at the beginning, but eventually growing progressively warmer as the letters continued to be exchanged. She now viewed Lucy as a dear friend and confidante. For this reason, she had told Lucy of her anticipated trip to London, asking her what she should expect to see. To her surprise, Lucy's response had been somewhat apathetic, not so much towards London as towards London society. Regarding the Vyses, she remained purposefully vague and Minnie certainly did not wish to pry. However, when describing them, Cecil in particular, Lucy had written that, "Cecil is the type of gentleman best described as a closed room. He is most likely to keep to himself during your visit and I'm sure that he will not bother you at all, if you do not go out of your way to cross his path." This was all Lucy had to say regarding her former fiancé. Minnie had not thought of Lucy's words again up until this day, as she briskly walked through the streets of London with her reluctant companion. Had she perhaps gone out of her way to cross Cecil's path? It appeared as though she had, for Cecil certainly had not intentionally confronted her at any point since his return to London. Suddenly, a disconcerting idea struck her. She could not understand why it would vex her so very much, but she found herself wondering, worrying that perhaps Cecil found her to be genuinely tiresome and irritating, as his expression often suggested. Her thoughts were suddenly cut off when he unexpectedly turned to look at her.

"You're very quiet," he remarked, scrutinizing her. "It's quite unlike you."

"Is it? I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head disapprovingly. Why on earth was she fretting over such an insignificant thought? Supposing he did find her to be a repulsive irritant, why would it matter so very much to her? It was not as though she had any reason to try to impress him. If anything, she seemed to have been doing everything possible to have the opposite effect on him. Once again, she quieted her thoughts. "My mind is all over the place today, I'm afraid. Oh look!" She pointed towards a small cart of apples on the other side of the street. "You know, I've been craving decent fruit ever since I arrived in London. That's not to say that your mother's fruit is undesirable, but I'm afraid it doesn't compare to that of Surrey." As she began to cross the street, she felt Cecil gently grasp her arm. She looked up at him, astounded. "Cecil, what is it? I'll only be a moment."

He was not looking at her, but seemed to be gazing towards several women approaching them. "Please don't leave me, Mary. I can't stand to have them confront me without a companion."

She turned to see the older women who were slowly approaching them. "Cecil, how very peculiar you're acting! It will only take me a moment. After all, they're your acquaintances. I think you can handle conversing with them long enough for me to purchase an apple." Before he could protest, she had abandoned him.

From the apple cart, Minnie watched with vague interest as Cecil spoke to the ladies. He did not even seem to be feigning a delightful expression. Rather, he remained inexcusably somber, turning his eyes to the sky ever several moments, only speaking when the situation demanded a response. After paying for her fruit, she took a small bite and strolled towards her unfortunate companion, who had never seemed quite so pleased to see her approaching him.

"Mrs. Turner!" Minnie began enthusiastically. "How very good to see you again. We met at your brother-in-law's dinner party several days ago."

"Yes, of course! Delighted to see you again, Miss Beebe," the other woman replied with an artificial smile. "I was just discussing the party with Mr. Vyse. I felt obliged to censure him for never accepting dinner invitations. He seems to be hiding from all of us!"

"Yes, it does seem that Mr. Vyse prefers to keep to himself," Minnie replied, gently taking hold of Cecil's arm. "But I'm quite sure that you shouldn't take it as a slight. Should she, sir?" She glanced up at him with an expectant grin.

Briefly closing his eyes in irritation, he at last turned his attention once more to Mrs. Turner and forced a small smile upon his face. "Certainly not. As Miss Beebe has explained, I am a solitary chap. I'm good for nothing but books, I'm afraid."

"I wouldn't take it that far," Minnie commented. He turned his eyes to her, clearly interested in this comment. "You make an excellent walking companion," she explained with a playful smile.

Uncertain of how to respond, he merely grinned once more and turned his eyes up to the sky. Feeling that the conversation was coming to an awkward halt, Mrs. Turner curtsied to the other two and led her own companions away. "A pleasure, Mr. Vyse. Miss Beebe."

"Good day, Mrs. Turner," Minnie replied, leading Cecil in the opposite direction. They strolled at a slower pace than before as Minnie ate her apple. Her arm remained folded in his own and she was surprised to realize that he did not seem the least bit uncomfortable with this. "There. Was that so very bad?" she asked good-humoredly, as soon as they were far from Mrs. Turner and her friends.

Cecil briefly turned his eyes to see the older women in the distance and immediately grimaced. "Insufferable," he said, fixing his eyes once more on the street ahead of them.

She stared at him, wide-eyed. "What makes them so very insufferable?" she asked, intrigued.

"Must I explain?" he asked pompously. "You spoke to her. People like Mrs. Turner are perhaps tolerable if they remain silent, but when conversing with anyone, they prove themselves to be absolutely detestable and vulgar." His response left her speechless. Finally, after several moments of thought, she was able to respond.

"You have very strong opinions, Mr. Vyse," she remarked.

His eyes briefly turned to her, as though he was expecting her to expound on this point in a caustic manner. "I cannot help but feel that perhaps you have something more to say on the matter," he eventually said, curiosity consuming him.

She smiled, amused by his accurate assumption. "Well… Yes, as a matter of fact. I was just thinking… Well, that's really all it is, isn't it? It's your _opinion_."

He furrowed his brows in consternation. "I beg your pardon?"

"They're very strong opinions, but that doesn't change the fact that they are merely based on your own personal feelings. Not everyone would agree with you regarding Mrs. Turner and her friends. As a matter of fact, many people would feel quite differently."

"Such as whom?" he quickly responded, unable to hide the fact that he was feeling quite offended.

"Such as me!" she responded boldly, no longer feeling obliged to trudge lightly on the matter. "I feel quite differently, Cecil. Certainly Mrs. Turner is not a friend of mine. But I would never call her _detestable_. Your language is far too strong."

"How could you _not_ find Mrs. Turner to be loathsome?"

"I don't see why I _should_. She's a perfectly respectable acquaintance. Perhaps she's not as brilliant as yourself." He immediately caught the sarcasm in her tone. "But that's hardly a reason to detest the poor woman. I think that you're being much too judgmental. She was kind enough to approach you, despite the fact that you have slighted her on innumerable occasions, I'm sure. Yes, Mrs. Turner is an acceptable acquaintance. I see no reason for you to snub her, even if she isn't particularly bright."

"You hardly even know her, Mary," he quipped, the condescension rising in his tone.

"Neither do you," she replied, refusing to be intimidated by his self-assurance. "Perhaps if you attended her social gatherings, you would have a valid reason for disliking her. You're far too quick to judge people. Since I arrived, I've seen you immediately pass negative judgment on two people."

"Two?" he asked, turning to her with deep interest. "Mrs. Turner would obviously be one. Who was the other detestable creature?"

"I was the other," she responded, grinning with cruel satisfaction at the reaction her answer provoked and immediately continuing with her explanation before he could object. "You make it seem as though you hate everyone, Cecil. You would rather engulf yourself in books and forget that other people exist than actually interact with someone, I think. You seem to pride yourself on your ability to keep everyone at a cold distance." As soon as she said this, she could feel his gaze on her, but she refused to look at him. Their walk continued in silence.

* * *

She could not have known the effect that this comment had on him. Her words were so eerily similar to those that were spoken to him five years earlier that he felt it could not have been a coincidence. And yet, unless she had specifically spoken to Lucy Honeychurch- that is, Lucy Emerson- about the dissolution of their engagement, how would she have been able to reiterate Lucy's words with such inexplicable accuracy? This idea disconcerted him immensely.

_He was the sort who could never know anyone intimately…_

These were Lucy's words exactly as she had said them five years prior to Miss Beebe's visit. And these were the words that Miss Beebe (or as she wished to be called, Mary) had summarized precisely, though it appeared that she was unaware that she had done so, for her expression remained just as pleasant as it had been prior to their conversation. He had no way of denying the accuracy of this description. He had once overheard Mr. Beebe describing him to Freddy Honeychurch as a Gothic statue. He thought it a rather bizarre description, especially since, at the time, he had been engaged to Lucy. Far more pressing matters had consumed his attention at the time, but ever since the night that Lucy broke their engagement, memories such as these had haunted Cecil.

Was there really anything wrong with living his life as an ascetic? It appeared to him that this lifestyle suited him and seemed to complement him. Yet it also promoted ridicule from distant acquaintances, as well as every young impulsive woman such as Lucy Emerson and Mary Beebe, who both had adventurous spirits to which he would never be able to relate. But on this particular issue, he could not censure them for differing from him in their natures. He had once felt that the greatest virtue in Lucy had been her mysterious nature, similar to that of a painting by Leonardo da Vinci. But to his utter astonishment, she had proven herself to be anything but ideal (according to his original ideas of what a proper woman should be), and this only seemed to increase her desirability in his eyes. She was no longer mysterious to him and yet his fresh understanding of her character drew him closer to her. Ever since the time of his failed engagement, Cecil had often pondered over his ideals, coming to the conclusion that, for the most part, he had behaved like an absolute fool with Lucy. He could not help his desire to protect her and influence her to the best of his ability. However, he knew that he had failed to appreciate the young woman for what she possessed and, at times, he wondered if this was the main reason she had slipped away from him…

He sighed, most miserably discontented. What on earth had provoked these tormenting memories of Lucy? Ah yes, he thought to himself. Mary Beebe's comment had caused these unpleasant thoughts to run through his head. Glancing at the young lady who presently had her arm held snuggly within his own, he noted that she was considerably different from Lucy. Certainly she was just as pretty as Lucy had been. Perhaps she was somewhat prettier. Not that this really mattered to him. He would judge the girl based on her merit rather than her appearance. She had made it quite clear that she was slightly intelligent and obviously wished for him to acknowledge this fact. He felt that perhaps her pride was too easily hurt. But perhaps this was to be expected. As his mother once commented, he had the unfortunate habit of allowing people to see exactly what he thought of them and generally his thoughts were not flattering to those who received his attention.

With this one seemingly trivial character flaw, Mary seemed to be an overall pleasant sort of child. But she certainly was not a child. Glancing at her bright, pleasant features once more, he could not imagine what made him think of her as a child. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she had been a child when he last saw her, five years prior to her visit. Or perhaps it was due to her unbridled candor and fearless tongue. She certainly was not uncomfortable around him, which was a somewhat refreshing change. This was yet another way that she differed from Lucy, who always seemed to become anxiously quiet whenever they came to any sort of disagreement. Though he could not deny that Lucy had every right to end their engagement, he truly believed that she had done him an injustice by silently enduring his small idiosyncrasies without once confronting him about them until she had already made up her mind to end their romance. If they bothered her so very much, she should have told him so. How else could he have possibly known that she was vexed with him? For this reason, Cecil could not fault Mary for her tactlessness, as much as he wished to do so at times.

If he were to marry (and this absurd idea amused him greatly), he felt it would be absolutely crucial to find a woman whose foremost quality was honesty. Perhaps he would not need a young lady who was quite as honest as Mary Beebe, but he certainly would require a wife with a stronger voice than that of Lucy Emerson. Cecil had heard people refer to him as condescending and pompous on several occasions when they thought he had quit the room. Though he begrudgingly admitted to possessing both of these characteristics, he also believed that he should be credited for having the humility needed to admit that, in order for him to improve himself, he would need to be informed when he was temporarily digressing into his former pretentious habits. For the month, he would have no choice but to rely on Mary to perform this task, which seemed to come quite naturally to her.


	8. Thoughts on Romance and Literature

**_Chapter 8_**

Minnie Beebe slowly trudged through the halls of Mrs. Vyse's London flat, deeply engrossed in her novel. Suddenly, the sound of her own name caused her to jump. She lifted her eyes from _A Tale of Two Cities_ and followed the call, which echoed from the drawing room that she had passed moments earlier.

Stepping into the drawing room, she found Cecil, seated at his desk, writing vehemently in a journal. She momentarily felt flattered that he had finally become comfortable enough with her presence to address her when it was not entirely necessary, but quickly pushed this thought out of her head, finding it to be ridiculous.

"Mary, what would you say of a young man who spent his entire life pining for a woman who had married and settled with a family, forgetting him almost as soon as she left his life?"

Minnie thought for a moment, completely taken aback by this unexpected question. "Well…" she began hesitantly. "I suppose I would find the man to be deplorable. But what sort of a silly man would do such a thing?"

"That's my question exactly!" he responded, continuing to write intensely. "I'm writing a letter to this writer, Joseph Emery Prank, describing my displeasure. I've endured a countless number of ridiculous romance novels and I simply cannot contain myself any longer. This man could not possibly understand romance if he thinks that _this_ is the least bit plausible." At this, he gestured towards the novel, which he had previously tossed to the side in disgust.

"Cecil," she began thoughtfully, lifting the book in her hands. "Perhaps you are putting too much thought into this. After all, it's only a silly little love story. It's not meant to be taken so seriously."

"That's inconsequential," he replied.

"Not at all. Mr. Prank is most likely writing these stories to earn a modest income and provide light entertainment for his readers. You act as though the writer is maliciously endeavoring to deceive us into believing that silly little romances such as these are the completely viable." He did not bother to look up from his letter. Clearly he was not listening to her. Suddenly, she decided to approach the issue from a more logical stance. "Cecil, how are you going to send this letter to Mr. Prank? Do you have an address?"

This caused him to look up. "Well… No. But I could probably-"

"And didn't you once say that Mr. Prank could in actuality be a woman using Joseph Emery Prank as a penname? Do be sensible, Cecil. You're not sending this letter."

After a moment of thought, he at last dropped his pen and crumpled the letter in defeat. "I can hardly believe I hadn't thought of that," he muttered, greatly vexed.

"I suppose it's fortunate that you happen to call me in before you went through the trouble of finishing it," she said. She watched him for a moment, amused by his unusually intense reaction to such a trivial matter. Suddenly, an idea struck her. "Cecil…"

"Hmm?" he responded, organizing the objects on his writing desk.

"You read so very much, it's no wonder that you become offended by terrible writing. Perhaps the intensity of your reaction was somewhat unnecessary…" Her words trailed off as soon as she noticed him glance up at her, not the least bit amused. "Anyway, it struck me that perhaps you would make an excellent writer. I've listened to you speak. You definitely have a poetic nature when you bother to expose it. In fact, I do not believe I've ever met anyone quite as eloquent as yourself."

"You flatter me," he said flatly, not the least bit trustful of her uncharacteristically kind comments.

"Yes, I am flattering you. In this particular area, I shan't pretend that you're lacking mechanical skill or creativity. Perhaps you lack motivation to begin a novel. But I can't understand why you would. You have no profession. Most of your time is spent reading other people's creative works. It seems that there would be much more value in creating some of your own."

"Mary," he began with a pretentious grin. "I have no profession because I have never found one that suits me. In my opinion, as long as I am no trouble to anyone I have the right to do as I like."

"But writing could very well be your vocation!" she replied, choosing for the moment to ignore his arrogant attitude. "Are you not the least bit open to trying something new?"

He stared up at her, momentarily humbled. "Well, of course I am. But I hardly think-"

"What would stop you from writing a novel?" she continued, quite certain that she was in the right on this particular issue. "If this Joseph Emery Prank can publish his…or her… terrible works of fiction, you could easily do so! I know you would be a sensation. Writing is very well respected. And… keep in mind that if you become a writer, you'll at last have a reasonable excuse for never attending social calls."

Though Cecil had never thought of himself as the sort to acquire a profession, the idea did suddenly become quite tempting. "Very well… You've persuaded me… But what would I have to write about?"

"Absolutely anything! Don't be purposefully ignorant," she replied, opening the curtains of a nearby window. "You know what people enjoy reading. After all, you're the quintessential critic, are you not?"

He could not deny this, but smirked softly. "I suppose I do have _strong opinions_," he muttered, hoping that she would catch the reference.

She immediately understood his meaning and laughed softly. "And perhaps this will be to your benefit…for once. If you'd like, I would be more than willing to help you develop your story."

He turned his chair to face her. "You wish to help me?" he repeated in disbelief.

"Well, yes," she replied curtly. "Why shouldn't I? I enjoy reading. Perhaps I don't read as much as you do, but I prefer reading to almost any other activity. Freddy always censures me, claiming that I shouldn't spend so much time with my head in a book."

At this, he turned his eyes to meet hers, a queer expression upon his face. "Why would Freddy care what you do with your time?"

As soon as he asked this, she felt her stomach tighten. Had she not mentioned that Freddy would most likely be her fiancé when she returned to Surrey? Perhaps this was for the best. After all, the engagement was not official and she certainly did not wish to give the impression that it was until her mother had given Freddy her permission. Uncertain as to whether she was being completely honest, she heard herself say, "Freddy is my dearest friend," as she seated herself in a chair near his own.

"Oh, yes," he mumbled, lifting a nearby novel from the floor. "I believe I've heard that you and Freddy are-"

"You shouldn't listen to idle gossip," she immediately stated. Now she was quite certain that she was not being entirely honest with him.

At this, his face seemed to brighten considerably. "Oh… Pardon me, Mary. I spoke with Mother and she seemed to be under the impression that… Oh, well. Never mind. It's just idle gossip, as you've said. To be quite candid, I'm glad to hear of it."

She watched him carefully, not certain as to how she should take this comment. "Am I to assume that Freddy has not met your approval? Do you view him as critically as you view poor Mrs. Turner?"

"I do not view _anyone_ as critically as I view Mrs. Turner," he responded coolly. She glanced up, surprised to see that he was grinning. She reciprocated the grin, hardly believing that Cecil Vyse had just made a slight joke at his own expense. "Freddy's a perfectly good sort of chap. I just feel that… Oh, never mind. As to this book-"

"No, no. Proceed… Please… What were you about to say regarding Freddy?"

"Absolutely nothing," he replied, determined. "If I say one word, you will assuredly snap at me, accusing me of being judgmental and pretentious."

"Well, Cecil, you _are_ judgmental and pretentious. But ignoring that fact for one moment, what were you about to say regarding Freddy?"

He shifted in his chair uneasily, his arms crossed tightly. Clearly he no longer wished to continue with this particular discussion. "I only feel… That I boy such as Freddy Honeychurch would prove to be a negative influence on you. That's all. As a friend, I'm sure he would be suitable. But as a lover, I fear he would prove to be a miserable mentor."

As soon as she heard this, she was the one to scoff. "Perhaps you don't realize that a lover isn't supposed to be a _mentor_." She said this last word with a tone of disgust that caused Cecil to feel more agitated than ever. "A lover is a confidante! A friend, perhaps. But not a mentor! I don't want to be Freddy's protégée. Not that I would wish to be his lover either. That's not what I mean. It's just- Oh! You have me quite frustrated now. A lover is supposed to… well… _love_. Pardon me for not sounding as eloquent as you do. But a lover shouldn't feel the need to influence and teach. It's not the least bit romantic! When a woman becomes intimately acquainted with a gentleman, she certainly doesn't want him to immediately _protect_ her, as though she were a child." She abruptly stopped herself upon seeing his expression. Obviously whatever she said had affected him, just as the comment she made during their walk had affected him. After a moment, she collected her nerves and, with a deep sigh, continued softly. "I beg your pardon, Cecil. I don't know how we reached this discussion. I suppose it's my doing. As usual, you will have to forgive me." He made no response, but abruptly stood and pushed his chair towards the desk, where he pulled a piece of paper in front of him and proceeded to write. Curiously, she approached him and stared at the paper. "What is this?" she asked.

"An idea… for a story…" he replied, still writing intently.

"A romance?" she asked nervously.

"No, not at all. Quite the contrary. It's the story of an ill-fated couple… outlining all of the various reasons that their romance is destined to fail. Clearly I haven't the slightest idea of how to treat a wife, as you have so delicately brought to my attention. For this reason, the novel should be rather easy to complete."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, obviously, if I think something to be a good idea, it would most likely cause the lovers of my story to grow further apart."

"Cecil!" she began, shaking her head with a small grin. "Please don't take my comments quite so seriously. I certainly did not mean to offend you! It's just that-"

"Mary, I certainly do not wish to be rude," he began, turning to her. "But I really must begin, now that I have an idea. So if you wish to assist me, do so. However, if you do not wish to help me, your presence in this room will only prove to be a distraction."

Under the distinct impression that Cecil would much rather see her leave than stay, Minnie crossed to the door, chuckling softly to herself as she left the gentleman to his work.


	9. Cecil as a Writer

**_Chapter 9_**

To Mary's amazement, Cecil continued to write for several hours. And eventually, several hours became half a day. Sitting at the breakfast table, Mary sipped her tea, expecting Cecil to arrive in his impeccable garb, appearing as though his entire morning had been spent grooming. However, when he entered the breakfast room, his appearance caused both Minnie and Mrs. Vyse to stare wide-eyed, as though he were a very unfashionable ghost. It reminded her of the awkward _Tale of Two Cities _encounter, Minnie thought.

"Cecil, are you feeling quite well?" Mrs. Vyse asked, eying her son with arched brows.

"Yes, yes, I am quite well," he muttered hurriedly, pushing his sleeves up in annoyance as he fingered through a large stack of papers.

"It's just that… You're usually so particular about your appearance, my dear," Mrs. Vyse said hesitantly, attempting to remain tactful.

"Oh, my apologies, Mother. I'm not breakfasting this morning. I'm far too busy." Clearly he had not heard a word that she said. "Mary… I do apologize for interrupting your meal, but… If you wouldn't mind…" He kneeled down beside her chair and placed the papers gently beside her plate. With a small grin, she placed her tea to the side and lifted the papers.

"Good grief, Cecil! There must be over a hundred pages here!" she exclaimed.

"One hundred-thirty-two, to be precise," he corrected, removing his pince-nez and tensely wiping them with a cloth napkin.

"All this… because of what I said yesterday?" she asked, almost flattered by the effort he had exerted.

"That's how the story began, yes. But the longer I wrote, the easier it became to put my thoughts into words. I would be very interested to know what you think," he said quietly, rubbing his temples, his eyes squinting.

She glanced at him, concerned. "Cecil… Have you slept at all in the past day?"

"Certainly not!" he answered, as though her question was ridiculous. "This was far more important than rest." His pale complexion and half-opened eyes contradicted his claim, but Minnie chose not to comment on this.

"Well, this is… very impressive, to say the least," Minnie began, fingering through the pages. "I suggest that you let me read it and… in the meantime, you can go to bed and sleep for a while."

His posture straightening, he remained in his kneeling position, staring at her as though she had lost her mind. "Mary, I have at least several dozen new ideas popping into my head every minute. If I do not write them, my brain will go to pieces!"

"Jot them down and write them once you regain your strength," she said firmly.

"Mary, I certainly will not-"

"Cecil!" she exclaimed, placing a hand on his arm, immediately causing him to flinch. Detecting Mrs. Vyse's inquisitive gaze upon her, Minnie immediately pulled her hand back and placed it on her lap. "You're absolutely exhausted! I can't have your mother blaming me if you catch your death!"

"Why would she blame you?" he asked impatiently. "I have my own free-will, you know."

"Yes, but it was my idea for you to write a book," Minnie replied. "But never mind. That's not the point. Really, Cecil. I think you should go to bed. Please…"

Unable to remain adamant, he reluctantly struggled to his feet and moved towards the door. "If you insist," he said, annoyed as he closed the door behind him.

Wishing to avoid Mrs. Vyse's continuous gaze, Minnie turned her attention to the first page of the story before her and proceeded to read. In fact, she could not stop reading until she reached the one hundred thirty-second page, where the words suddenly cut off mid-sentence, as though Cecil had played a very cruel joke on her.

Approaching his door, she listened quietly. Much to her aggravation, he was still asleep. Impatient to know where he planned to take the story, she crossed to the drawing room, resenting her brilliant idea to force him to go to bed.

In order to fill the time until he awoke, she sat at his desk and prepared a new sheet of paper, writing comments as she reread the pages, scrutinizing every word. After an hour of writing, she suddenly noticed something very peculiar about his desk. It seemed as though he had taken the time to organize every item on the desk before going to the breakfast room earlier that morning. Though she could not relate to his inexplicable urge to organize everything around him, she found it to be vaguely intriguing and decided that she could not criticize him for it.

Finished with her comments, she pulled out a new sheet of paper, smoothing it gently before beginning to write with a much smaller level of enthusiasm.

"My dearest Freddy,

After spending nearly a month in London, I am pleased to tell you that I am quite well and am enjoying myself immensely. I have only been introduced to London society on one occasion, but it was most noteworthy."

Lacking the motivation or interest to describe this one introduction into London society, Minnie wondered if perhaps the event had not been the least bit noteworthy after all. Sighing, she once again focused her attention on the paper.

"The Vyses have been most excellent hosts. Mrs. Vyse is a very good sort of person. She has been most kind to me ever since I arrived in London. It seems that you are not the only person who immensely enjoys my music skills, mediocre though they may be. The dear woman insists that I play for her nearly every night. On occasion, Cecil also asks me-"

Her eyes widened as though she had made some great error, Minnie quickly crossed out several words and began the sentence again.

"On occasion, Mr. Vyse also asks me to play the works of Beethoven, but I fear I lack the talent to do the melodies justice. It seems that I am only good for the pleasant comic songs you have always found to be so very amusing."

She knew that Freddy would expect her to elaborate, telling him all of the details regarding her stay in London. However, Minnie found it to be strangely difficult to describe her visit. It seemed as though nearly all of the events involving her stay that were worth noting were in some way related to Cecil. And she certainly could not write a letter to Freddy describing all of the amusing stories where another man was the main character of her tales. It would doubtlessly give him the wrong impression. Instead, she chose to write that her trip had generally been rather dull and he had no reason to fear her becoming attached to London. In truth, she was quite pleased with the city and would in all likelihood miss it immensely for the first several weeks after her return. However, she knew that she could not allow Freddy to detect this.

Just as she was about to sign the letter, she heard footsteps approaching the drawing room. She quickly folded the letter and placed it in her bodice, standing from the desk as though she had reason to feel guilt. Just as she had expected, Cecil entered, now clad in elegant attire, his hair scrupulously combed and his pince-nez glimmering brightly, as though he had polished them moments earlier.

"Good afternoon, Mary," he said, standing stiffly in the doorway.

"Good evening, Cecil," she replied, good-humouredly. "Come. I've read your story and I have many comments regarding the characters and plot."

"This isn't the least bit surprising," he murmured, sitting at his desk and methodically organizing his writing tools. "I see you've been using my pen and paper."

"Yes," she admitted quietly. "I hope that isn't a problem."

"No, of course not," he said quickly, gesturing for her to sit in the chair next to his desk. "So tell me, Mary… What tactless criticism do you have for me regarding my story? Is it a horrible atrocity? Should I toss it into the fireplace and forget this whole business."

"Certainly not. If that were the case, I never would have spent my entire day reading and rereading it, just so I could give you my thoughts on it."

"And what would those thoughts be?" he inquired, suppressing his urge to smile at her as she vehemently searched through her notes, as though it were a very somber affair.

"Well… Overall, I think it's quite a delightful tale… Although… I must ask, Cecil… Could you explain to me what I am supposed to be thinking of this Mr.… Christopher Vine? At times I think he's absolutely wonderful and yet… at other times… he's quite intolerable!"

Cecil stared at her as though she had spoken a foreign language. "I don't understand," he said at last.

"Well, for example… Page twenty-seven… He's speaking with his fiancée Lydia… Well, he seems like a very decent sort of chap. Perhaps he's a little too… reserved. But that's not a vice. Or… perhaps it is…" She glanced up at him nervously and quickly fixed her eyes once more on the notes. "Anyway, he seems to be quite romantic and all that, until… page fifty-three. When he _asks_ Lydia if he might kiss her."

He arched a brow, crossing his arms defensively. "And what is so terrible about that?"

"Again… he _asks_ if he might kiss her," she repeated, shaking her head gently, a judgmental expression in her eyes. "I must ask you… What sort of woman would _ever_ want to their fiancé to… ask permission before kissing her? It's absurd!"

"I wouldn't say it's absurd," he mumbled, swallowing dryly. "He's not the impulsive sort. He doesn't wish to take any risks."

"In other words," she interjected. "He doesn't have the nerve. I suppose what I'm trying to say is… it seems that Vine is a decent character… He just needs to calm himself and… stop taking life so very seriously. Lydia might accept his faults now, but I can't imagine that she would stand them for long."

Pressing his hand to his forehead, he closed his eyes, gesturing towards her notes. "Go on."

"Very well," she said hesitantly, flipping through several pages. "Overall, the story was very engaging…well-written… Though I'm not certain if I like Lydia all that much."

"You dislike Lydia?" he asked, shocked. "How could you dislike Lydia?"

"How could I _not_ dislike Lydia?" she asked mockingly. "Oh, I suppose she is not terribly offensive. It's just that… I can't imagine that these two would have a very happy marriage."

"Well, is that not the point?" he replied, straightening himself. "I told you… The point of the story is to show how these two people, through their own character flaws, destroy their romance."

"How very dismal," she muttered, flipping another page. "Ah! Here we are… Page seventy-four… They are discussing Lydia's brother, Francis… Christopher is stating his immense dislike for the poor lad and… Lydia seems to be _agreeing_ with him. A few pages prior to this, she seemed to be on very good terms with her brother. What am I supposed to infer from this? Lydia cannot form her own opinions, so she immediately agrees with whatever Christopher tells her to believe? Is that it?"

"Well, no!" he said defensively. "It's just that-"

"It seems to me," she interjected, her tone softened. "That Lydia is intimidated by Christopher's natural propensity to criticize everyone he meets. And she doesn't have a will of her own. Cecil, you're not doing my sex justice! I don't know about this Lydia, but if I were engaged to someone who hated my family I certainly would not agree with _anything_ he said! I'd sooner toss him out of the house!"

"Yes, well," Cecil began, his eye inconspicuously twitching. "Not every woman is quite as…independent as yourself."

"Every woman should be independent. If she is not, there will always be a Christopher Vine there to come and change her into what he believes to be the perfect woman. And I find that, generally, the ideal woman to most men is a silent yet beautiful goddess with absolutely no free-will."

"Clearly it is your goal to rebel against this ideal," Cecil mumbled, unaware of how this could be taken.

Glancing down at her hands, Minnie felt her cheeks redden. "Yes, I know I'm not particularly pretty."

"No!" Cecil quickly corrected, mortified. "That's not what I meant. I was only referring to your own natural propensity to voice your opinion on practically every matter. As to your appearance… I'm quite certain that you are the quintessence of every man's ideal."

Her face now flushing for an entirely different reason, she continued to finger through the pages on her lap, for once unable to look up into his eyes. "I… I'm not entirely certain why you've included the character Marianne."

"Marianne?" he repeated, perplexed. "The young woman residing with Lydia's mother? Good heavens! What's wrong with Marianne?"

"Oh, nothing at all. It's just… I don't know exactly how she contributes to the story."

"Her character is of little consequence," he replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I just thought I might like to incorporate another character… in case I feel inclined to deviate from the primary plot."

"How old is she?" Minnie asked, lifting the original story from Cecil's desk.

"Fifteen," he answered.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, lifting her head with a radiant smile. "Well, she could marry Francis, I think!"

"Certainly not," he replied adamantly.

"Very well," she muttered after staring at him for a moment, dazed. "Perhaps she is too young to marry anyone."

"Perhaps," he agreed, though, in actuality, this was not his reason for disliking the match at all.

"Keep working on it, Cecil. I know you will do an excellent job." Standing from her chair, she made for the door. Turning on her heels, she glanced at him, a nervous expression upon her face. "Oh… I meant to ask you…"

"Hmm?" he mumbled, focused on the notes she had left for him. After a moment of silence, he glanced up at her. "Yes? What is it?"

"It's just that… Your mother wanted me to ask you… Mrs. Turner is having a dinner party in two days and… she desperately wants you to attend."

"Mary," he began, placing his pen on the desk in a very bad humor. "I was under the distinct impression that, provided I continue with my work, I would not be forced to attend social functions."

"Well, I know that you don't care what Mrs. Turner wants. But your mother wishes you would. You can't imagine how embarrassing it is for her, to have to explain each time she goes anywhere why her son could not _possibly_ attend the engagement, assuring her host that dear Cecil will 'most definitely attend the next dinner party' or whatever the social function might be. These people might not be as brilliant as you are, but they definitely know when they are being slighted. Won't you even consider it… for your mother's sake?"

Gazing at the paper before him, he remained silent for a moment. "I do so hate social functions. All the aimless chatter…"

Sighing deeply, she took a step towards him. "Cecil… _I _would like you to attend the dinner party. Please escort us. Of course, I have no way of forcing you to attend… But I would be so very pleased if you at least kept the thought in mind."

Turning his eyes to meet hers, he gave her a weak glare and at last succumbed to her pathetic expression. "Very well. I will…_consider_ it. I can't give you a definite answer until I see how much I progress with this in the next two days."

Smiling brightly, she gave his arm a soft squeeze before moving towards the door. "Thank you! I'll tell your mother that… you are _considering_ it."

He watched her for a moment as she quit the room, rubbing his arm lightly where she had touched it, and immediately forced his attention once more to the large pile of insurmountable work before him.


	10. Cecil as a Dinner Guest

**_Chapter 10_**

"My dear Cecil!" Mrs. Vyse exclaimed from the door leading out of her flat. "Do make haste! Mrs. Turner expected us nearly ten minutes ago!"

"He won't be a moment, Ma'am," Minnie said quietly, approaching Mrs. Vyse as she placed a small cape over her shoulders. "He's in the process of polishing his spectacles."

At this, Mrs. Vyse sighed, her eyes turned to the ceiling. "Gracious! I do hope he won't be long! He doesn't even need those silly spectacles. He thinks they make him look quite dandified." Minnie could not suppress a conspicuous smirk. "Oh, perhaps I should not have said so!" Mrs. Vyse exclaimed, suddenly shamed by her own candor.

"No! I am _quite_ pleased that you did," Minnie said with a devious grin. "It will give me yet another reason to mock the poor fellow. Oh dear. I do hope he does not find my good-natured teasing to be intolerably offensive."

"Think nothing of it," Mrs. Vyse said absent-mindedly, her eyes still fixed on Cecil's door. "He might have his faults, but I assure you that never has there ever been a gentleman who could accept criticism as well as my Cecil can. You must think it his one great virtue."

"It wouldn't be his only virtue," Minnie muttered. "It would be one of many."

Turning about himself in a nervous frenzy, Cecil quitted his chamber and approached his mother, who immediately felt the need to straighten his collar to her satisfaction. "I do hope this will not take all evening," he said stiffly as he put on his overcoat. "I fear it will rain." He felt into his pockets, suddenly perplexed. "Hmm," he mumbled, checking his pockets once more. "How very peculiar." He started towards his chamber once more, much to his mother's aggravation.

"What is it, Cecil?" she asked irritably.

"My gloves. I have one of them, but I cannot seem to find the other."

"Oh!" Minnie cried, rushing towards her own chamber. "I have your glove. I won't be a moment."

Minnie immediately disappeared, leaving Cecil and his mother to exchange astonished glances. Their expressions were immediately transferred to Minnie as soon as she returned with the glove in hand.

"Thank you," Cecil began, eyeing her suspiciously as he placed his hand within the glove. "How on earth did it end up in your possession?"

Minnie furrowed a brow, unable to recall the events that had led to the glove falling into her luggage. As soon as the memory surfaced in her mind, she felt her cheeks grow warm. "Ah," she began, clearing her throat. "As I recall… When I first arrived… I was staying in your chamber… before you returned, if you remember. And… Well, I suppose the glove had been on the table adjacent to my luggage. It must have fallen before I transferred into the guest room."

"But I never keep my gloves on a table," Cecil replied adamantly. "And why would one glove be in my pocket while the other sat most absurdly on a table where it might have been and, in fact, was lost? I don't understand-"

"Oh dear!" Minnie exclaimed, suddenly focusing her attention on the small watch that hung from Mrs. Vyse's throat. "We are nearly fifteen minutes late! We really must go. I hope Mrs. Turner will forgive our tardiness."

Minnie took several bold steps towards the door, followed by a fretful Mrs. Vyse and a pensive Cecil, whose eyes remained fixed on the enigmatic glove.

* * *

"Mr. Vyse!" Mrs. Turner screeched, placing her hand through Cecil's arm, her pitch inexcusably high, considering her proximity to the dour gentleman. "How good it is that you have vouchsafed my modest little dinner party with your presence. It's such an honor to see you, sir!"

"I'm certain the feeling is mutual," Minnie said with thinly veiled mockery as she walked behind her hostess. Cecil glanced towards her with unconvincing annoyance. She merely responded with a sly wink.

"Thank you, Miss Beebe," Mrs. Turner muttered with a sneer, hardly turning her eyes to Minnie. "Dinner has just commenced, so I am glad to say that you have missed nothing, sir."

"Oh, what a great relief," Cecil replied.

"I have placed you directly across from me," Mrs. Turner announced cheerily, leading the unhappy fellow to his seat. "And there you are, Mrs. Vyse," she continued pleasantly, gesturing to a chair across from Mr. Turner, her brother. Thinking her task finished, Mrs. Turner seated herself across from Cecil, who eyed Minnie as she lingered awkwardly in the doorway.

"Mrs. Turner," Cecil began. "It seems that you have forgotten Miss Beebe."

"Have I?" Mrs. Turner asked unenthusiastically. "Oh yes. How silly of me. Miss Beebe, you are to sit down there at the other end of the table… across from Mrs. Whiting."

Mrs. Whiting, an elderly lady who was partially deaf, did not respond at the sound of her own name. Reluctantly stepping towards her chair, Minnie watched the older woman, uncertain of whether or not she had fallen asleep. Not wishing to appear ungrateful, she sat and waited patiently for dinner, unable to hear any of the following conversation, as she was too far from the Vyses to hear anything, with the exception of Mrs. Whiting's occasional snoring.

"How very pleasant you look, Mr. Vyse," Mrs. Turner commented with a smile, her eyes lingering on Cecil as he attempted to eat his soup uninterrupted.

"How very kind, Mrs. Turner," he muttered, carefully wiping his lips with his napkin.

"And how very healthy and robust you appear to be!" Mrs. Turner exclaimed. "I do declare, Mrs. Vyse, your son looks very well indeed!"

"Yes," Mrs. Vyse replied. "He has been escorting Miss Beebe every day on her walks. I believe it has proved to be quite beneficial to his health. Would you not agree, Cecil?"

"Yes, I feel quite healthy, Mother," Cecil answered, his attention suddenly caught by the plain napkin with which Minnie was currently dabbing the corners of her mouth. "Mrs. Turner," he whispered gently.

"Yes, Mr. Vyse?" she replied, eagerly taking the confidentiality of his tone as an intimation that she should lean much closer to him.

"Might I inquire as to why Miss Beebe's napkin in different from ours?"

"It's not so very different, is it?" she asked unconvincingly.

"This napkin," he began, scrutinizing the ivory cloth within his hands. "This was woven from silk. French silk, if I am not mistaken."

"You are not," she replied, her smile slowly transforming into an uncomfortable frown.

"And that," he continued, briefly gesturing to the napkin Minnie held. "appears to be part of an older… Do forgive me if I say more modest set…"

"You have a very sharp eye, Mr. Vyse," Mrs. Turner replied, attempting to sound amused. "Very sharp indeed. Very well. I'll confess a little secret to you… But you mustn't tell anyone…" She took the opportunity to gesture for Cecil to lean closer to her. Reluctantly, he complied. "Earlier this evening, the servant, Gertrude, made a rather clumsy mistake as she set the table. She spilled a glass of wine all over Miss Beebe's setting. It was quite disastrous! I doubt the napkin will be saved."

"It's interesting…" Cecil pondered, digging his knife into the veal that had been presented before him with unnecessary vehemence. "… That is, it's fortunate… that no other setting was destroyed in the process. It appears that the tablecloth was not affected in the least by your servant's accident."

"Yes, well… The location of Gertrude's spill was most convenient."

"Very convenient," Cecil mumbled, taking a bite of veal while giving his hostess a disconcerting grin. The dinner continued in silence for several minutes until Mrs. Turner felt the obligation to turn her attention to Minnie, whom she had not addressed since the dinner commenced.

"Is the veal to your liking, Miss Beebe?" she asked. The severity of Mrs. Turner's tone caused Minnie to turn her eyes towards the others, briefly startled.

"I thank you, Ma'am," she replied. "It is quite delectable."

"Perhaps I should have Margaret prepare the recipe for you," Mrs. Turner said with a cruel smirk that went unnoticed by all but Cecil and Minnie.

"I would be much obliged," Minnie replied at length. "Only… I have been under the impression that asking for recipes is considered to be quite gauche in a London setting."

"Not merely in a London setting," Mrs. Turner replied quietly. "But there is no need to stand on ceremony here, Miss Beebe. After all, we are all on friendly terms with one another, are we not? So I'll tell you… The veal… before it is cooked… is smothered in an absolutely divine assortment of spices, all of which I have transported from India. Perhaps it is a little elaborate, but as you can see, it is quite worth the expense… Yes, I really must have Margaret give you the recipe. Do you cook often, Miss Beebe?"

Minnie stared up from her plate, temporarily speechless. Cecil took the opportunity to speak on her behalf. "Miss Beebe has no need to cook, Mrs. Turner. Certainly her family has a servant for that."

"No, actually…" Minnie began quietly, gently cutting her veal. "I am currently the only cook in my mother's household. Ever since Papa died, we… have kept few servants."

"How very unfortunate," Mrs. Turner replied apathetically. "Well, if that is the case, I doubt you'll be able to make use of the recipe. The spices-"

"Are quite expensive. Yes, I believe we heard you, Mrs. Turner," Cecil interrupted, unwilling to finish his meal.

"Are you finished already, Mr. Vyse?" Mrs. Turner asked as Cecil put down his fork and knife. "Yes, of course you are. As are we all, I believe. Margaret, clear these plates and serve the dessert." Mr. Turner briefly attempted to interject, but to little avail. The plates were quickly rushed out of the room. "The dessert this evening is a _true_ delicacy, Mr. Vyse," Mrs. Turner said enthusiastically. Within moments, each guest was served a crystal goblet overflowing with ice cream. All except for Minnie Beebe, who was presented with a glass bowl, in which a small scoop of the delicacy quickly melted.

Cecil observed this, wide-eyed with indignation. "Mrs. Turner," he began severely, causing her to flinch suddenly. "Might I ask why Miss Beebe has been presented with a positively grotesque serving dish and hardly any ice cream within it?" Cecil had not intended to sound quite so insulted and was only a little mortified when the room immediately plunged into an ominous silence. But he certainly could not back away from the matter now.

"Oh…" Mrs. Turner ventured to reply. "Well… It seemed that Gertrude had another-"

"Accident?" Cecil suggested. "And I suppose Gertrude had been stupid enough to only prepare enough ice cream for five. Is that it? Well…" Cecil leapt from his seat and snatched up his crystal goblet. He strode towards Minnie, making it a point to note out the distance between Minnie and the other guests. He abruptly placed the goblet before Minnie, who stared up at him, dumbfounded. He took up her dish and returned to his seat. "Allow me to be chivalrous," he said with unveiled sarcasm as he plunged into the small dish of ice cream that had previously been presented to Minnie.

The rest of the dinner convened in silence. Only Cecil was able to eat his dessert with any sort of satisfaction. Minnie had certainly taken notice of the various slights Mrs. Turner had made throughout the dinner. However, she could never have predicted Cecil's rash behavior. Though his actions had been inexcusable, she could not in any way confess to feeling distressed by them. In fact, they seemed to have quite the opposite affect on her.

For the first time since her arrival in London, Minnie retired to her room that evening with her head full of romantic thoughts, not one of which was in any way affiliated with Freddy Honeychurch.


End file.
